


i would lose my decadence (for your love)

by deadhearts



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, Come Marking, Come Swallowing, Dirty Talk, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, Humor, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Miscommunication, Nipple Play, Past Drug Use, Pining, Praise Kink, Slow Burn, Subspace, Texting, undernegotiated but enthuiastic consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 17:27:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9834419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadhearts/pseuds/deadhearts
Summary: The thing of it was that Mackie had just been trying to make a point. He'd just been trying to shut him up, or to make something clear, and he'd done what he'd set out to do. Sebastian had been well and properly put in his place. He'd been put in his place so well that Mackie had never touched him again, not inthatway, because he'd never had the need: whatever question he'd been asking had been so thoroughly and roundly answered that there wasn't any need to ask it twice.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is two parts Sebastian being a deeply weird person who is also confused, and kind of one part overt parody and... extended Chris Evans burn? It is based on Sebastian Stan's _incredible_ improvement to his looks on the set of _I, Tonya_ , and also his Winter Soldier workout spot on Fox5 a few weeks ago.
> 
> Please check tags for warnings. Title is adapted from the Mother Mother song "The Drugs."

  


  


Call it gut instinct, or whatever, but he knows it's Mackie texting before the message even lands.

– _what the fuck?_ it reads.

Sebastian puts his phone down and goes back to his food; waits for the next three messages to light his phone up, one after the other.

– _what is UP with that mustache???_  
– _holy shit man. motherfuck. that is the funniest goddamn thing ive ever seen_  
– _you eat your girl out with that thing? does she put scotch tape over it first so you don't resurface even more cumstained than usual?_

Sebastian watches his phone a while, eating, and snatches for it when it doesn't light up again.

– _she loves it,_ he texts back. _said she always wanted to fuck tom selleck._

– _she did not,_ Mackie says. _you said that to yourself in the mirror to make yourself feel better after she wouldn't even look at you._

Sebastian sends back that emoji with a single lone tear and sets his phone facedown, this time; forces himself to down the rest of his food. He tries not to think about whatever shit Mackie's sending him, just trying to get a rise.

In fact, Mackie sends nothing after that. Somehow that feels even goddamn worse.

  


  


* * *

  


  


Sebastian lets the teasing stay there a second too long when it needles under his skin. Then, like the hopeless fucking idiot he is, he actually starts to feel self-conscious.

It's his own damn fault; he knows better than to dwell on it, but he dwelled anyway and now he's here. It'd be one thing if Mackie was _present_ , making fun of him to his face -- he can take that shit when he's grabbed a hand in Sebastian's shirt with how fucking hard he's laughing, when Mackie looks at him with his eyes lit up. He can take it just fine when Sebastian's actually _part_ of the joke. 

But absent expression and body language and whatever the hell Mackie offers to put him at ease, it's hard not just to feel like an asshole right now. Sebastian licks nervously at his lips and feels the fucking bristles of that monstrosity on the tip of his tongue. He buries his face in one hand, somehow embarrassed of it, and it's for a _role,_ for god's sake; he does stupid shit for roles all the time. What the fuck is wrong with him? He hasn't been this much of a disaster about it since high school. 

Sebastian takes out his phone and reads Mackie's texts over for the fourth time, deciding that maybe it's the tone. When his hair is long, at least it's also beautiful, right? Doesn't Mackie always say--

But this fucking thing...

Margot, thank God, is fucking great about it. She seems to pick up on his ambient anxiety, or maybe just the way he keeps pressing his fingers to his lip. She helps him break through the tension that's somehow gathered in his shoulders in a day just by talking about their atrocious '90s wardrobe, and he finds it easy enough to break into banter; mentions, almost offhand, how his friend called his moustache a cumcatcher.

"You speaking from experience?" Margot asks, halfway to flirting.

Sebastian shrugs. "Not a problem if you swallow enough." 

He said it before he could stop himself, and regrets it at once. Margot's eyebrows steeple high on her brow. The next moments launch them into the world's most terrible silence as his instincts freeze up on him.

He should probably apologize; that seems a safe bet. He starts going about putting the words in the right order, but before he can string them together-- 

"Is that so?" she says, giving him an indulgent look. It's less that she's actually flirting, now, and Sebastian plunges into relief. Friendship he can do.

"It's the beard that'll get you," he tells her, waiting for his blush to run its goddamned course.

"My husband's got one," she says. "A beard, that is. Doesn't seem to cause him much trouble."

"Yeah? You don't have to ask him to wash it before--"

"Oh, I do," she says wistfully. "All kinds of shit gets caught in there, by god. Miss that fucker. It's the fact that he owns it that really sells it. Says he's storing crumbs for later, and I suppose that's just charming and disgusting enough to work. For me, anyhow." She cringes. "Don't go spreading that around, though, it reflects worse on me than it does him."

Sebastian looks at her sidelong and finds, suddenly, that he feels a lot better. "Well when you put it that way," he says, and she laughs; but goddamn him, because he actually means it.

  


  


* * *

  


  


Three days later, Mackie sends another text.

– _jesus christ,_ it says. _look at you. how old were you when those jeans were popular? is this even a throwback to you?_

Sebastian cracks half a smile; leans back in his bench seat in his trailer, stares at the message a while before replying.

– _im bringin em back mackie,_ he texts at last.

– _no you are not,_ Mackie says.

– _i'm a fashion icon, baby, i can't help it_

– _you wanna maintain that status? don't do this._

– _the people WILL follow me. would you deny them their leader?_

– _i thought the outfit made the man_

– _or does the man make the outfit? guess we're about to find out.…._

There's a pause, for a while; Sebastian imagines Mackie's laughter, finds his smile drawing wider.

– _listen, don't be jealous,_ Sebastian adds, when Mackie doesn't type anything. _i'll give you some of the credit. got any old photos of you wearing these? always said you wanted in on some of that fashion money._

– _sebastian._

– _bet 16 y o mackie was a babe_

– _swear to god i hate you most when you start to think you're a fuckin comedian_

– _just saying. untapped potential my friend_

– _can't believe you'd sell me out just so you look less like an idiot._

– _i'm telling you, macks, the money... the future. you're lookin at him_

– _you're both the money AND the future?_

– _look into my eyes and look into my mouth. tell me you don't see it._

– _why do you always say that? what is that? why would i look into your mouth? is that one of those vines you like for some godforsaken reason?_

Sebastian actually laughs -- whole, declarative.

– _trust, mackie,_ is all he writes; and then he throws his phone out of arm's reach and kips back for a nap, feeling weirdly satisfied.

  


  


* * *

  


  


Two days after that, Mackie sends him a photo of himself as a teenager: jeans high at his waist, upper half adorned in a loose sweater, striped widely with blue, purple and beige.

– _fuck you,_ the message reads.

Sebastian sends that emoji with hearts for eyes, followed by three more cry-laughing. Anthony sends back six middle fingers. 

After that, they don't talk for a while.

  


  


* * *

  


  


Sebastian finds he thinks more often than he'd like about that time they'd both been drunk as fuck, when Mackie had fisted a hand in Sebastian's shirt and kissed him like the world was ending. It had been hot, somehow recriminatory, with Sebastian against the wall and Mackie's mouth sharp with teeth. Sebastian had held at his shoulders with both hands, for stability, in surprise, trying to keep him at arm's length if only to avoid leaning into him in full. 

Then he'd made that stupid noise in the back of his throat that said more than he'd wanted to convey. He'd heard it when it happened and knew that Mackie had, too, just from the way he seemed to respond to it. Then it was over; then Mackie was gone, and Sebastian felt devastated by it the next day, though he could never totally figure out why. The memory of it left him rubbing roughly at his neck and at his lips for a week afterwards, as though he could undo the sound he made by force alone. 

The thing of it was that Mackie had just been trying to make a point. He'd just been trying to shut him up, or to make something clear, and he'd done what he'd set out to do. Sebastian had been well and properly put in his place. He'd been put in his place so well that Mackie had never touched him again, not in _that_ way, because he'd never had the need: whatever question he'd been asking had been so thoroughly and roundly answered that there wasn't any need to ask it twice. 

And Sebastian, in retaliation or desperation, had done nothing; kept on pining, carrying this ridiculous torch, trying to deny it. It seemed like nothing between them changed, and he wasn't about to be the one to change it. He just kept on talking to Mackie and about Mackie in the ways he had before, albeit with more of an edge to it than he wanted to admit. 

The thing was that maybe, in doing nothing, he was actually begging the question. Maybe, in looking at Mackie the way he did -- in talking about him in that way -- he was doing it in case it ever compelled him to try to make the point again. 

Maybe, just a little, he found he couldn't quite stop needling at that wound.

  


  


* * *

  


  


– _sensitive nipples, sweetheart?_

Sebastian's phone slides out of his hand and onto the floor.

The screen, thank god, does not shatter. This does unfortunately mean that he has to read the message again once he remembers how to engage his muscles to pick up his phone. 

He holds his head away from the screen and breathes out through his nose for three awful beats; then forces his eyelids to open and types out an unsteady reply.

– _why u asking, baby?_

He shuts his eyes the second his presses send and finds himself suddenly compelled to walk to Brooklyn, just in case Mackie texts back and he needs a bridge from which to throw himself nearby.

– _just saw you on the news working out with your nipple guards out in full force,_ comes Mackie's reply. _that's all._

Oh, Jesus Christ. Oh, fuck him. _That's all._ Goddamnit. He never took those fucking things off for the Winter Soldier spot for whatever reason, but of course Mackie noticed. Of course _Mackie_ noticed. He really hadn't thought anyone would.

– _chafing is a legitimate issue faced by many of today's athletic elite,_ he shoots back.

– _uh huh. this tidbit courtesy of your series of athletic biopics, or do I even wanna know?_

– _it's a real problem, mackie. there's bleeding, other unpleasantries_

– _wouldn't know_

– _yeah, you never work out_

– _all natural, baby, you know it_

Sebastian has nothing to say to that. He has a sneaking suspicion they have somehow not yet abandoned the topic of his nipples.

– _guess you're bulking up too huh_ , Sebastian asks anyway.

– _yeah, kinda. i mean all i really gotta do is flex real hard a couple times a day and those babies just pop right out_

– _incredible. you're a modern day miracle_

– _now that you mention it. where's my news segment?_

Sebastian frowns and chews on his cheek, trying to figure out how to diffuse this tension.

– _so you're not in black panther then, huh?_ Mackie asks, when he takes too long.

– _be weird if i was_

– _no argument_

– _just infinity wars, p sure. tho fuck if i know anything to be honest. half the time i feel like they keep me in the dark for sport_

– _securing their secrets i guess_

– _guess so. u hear anything?_

– _no dates. chris was only called the other day_

– _yeah?_

– _said they told him to pack nipple guards. guess you're set on that count_

There it is.

– _latest trend in athletic protection, mackie, i'm telling you_

– _yeah? alright, you go right on with your bad self. you gonna start modeling those too? maybe i'll invest_

– _better buy some now if you need 'em mackie. soon they'll be selling like hotcakes and don't think you're sharing mine_

Sebastian waits, teeth snagged on the inside of his cheek, trying to abort some insane grin.

– _...what?_  
– _what the fuck?_  
– _why would i SHARE your NIPPLEGUARDS with you_

And Sebastian has no idea what the fuck he's doing, but he does know that trying to out-weird Mackie seems to somehow break whatever unexplained bullshit builds between them every time.

– _you just seem awful hung up on them,_ Sebastian says. _i can only assume that means you're jealous_

– _jealous of WHAT, your TIT GUARDS?_

– _fetching, aren't they_

– _holy shit._

– _it's ok, anthony, you can admit you like em. that's why you texted, right? just couldn't keep your eyes off me_

And Sebastian only realizes he's gone too far _after_ he presses send; after he's been left to wait, heart pounding, dread pulling him down by the balls, until the burn of humiliation really sets in and sends him spinning into a state of lowkey panic.

He starts mentally compiling apology texts, or other texts that might successfully do away with this entire line of conversation for good, but then--

– _with you arching your back like that they're hard to miss,_ Mackie sends, nearly ten minutes into Sebastian's shame spiral. 

Relief hits him so hard that it actually feels cathartic.

– _gotta dress to impress, right?_

– _yeah? you really gonna start putting on a show with those things?_

– _just for you, macks._

– _don't fucking tempt me, sebastian._

The whole floor falls out from under him. 

Sebastian feels his expression slacken, blood draining from his face. His palms start to sweat, his heart beats fast; he really wonders if he's about to be sick. That's what it feels like, Sebastian thinks; this is what it feels like, when Mackie turns on a dime and starts using his full name like he's delivering him a slap to the face. It makes him feel like the world's turned glacial; like he's been hit with a chill he just can't shake.

He swallows; takes a second; tries to figure out how to go about this.

– _just a joke, man,_ he sends at last.

– _i don't think so._

– _you're taking a joke awful serious._

– _that right?_

– _you texted me, here. i'm just doing the best i can to play along._

– _you telling me you don't mean for this?_

– _mean for *what*? you literally opened with 'sensitive nipples, baby?'_

– _bet i could make you shudder apart just by your nipples alone._

Holy fuck.  
...Holy _fuck._  
         _What?_

– _this is mackie i'm talking to.... right?_ Sebastian asks, mouth dry, hands slipping.

– _accept no substitutes. you can back out of this conversation, baby, anytime, and i'll never bring it up again. you have my word on that._

Oh, fuck. Oh, _fuck._ Arousal slams in his balls, pulses hard in his veins. He tries to wipe off his sweating hands as he thinks; rubs his fingers at his eyes, then picks up his phone again and realizes that if he doesn't see where this goes he'll actually regret it.

– _no,_ Sebastian writes, after a moment of pause. It's for curiosity's sake, he tells himself. Curiosity. That's all. _keep going._

  


  


* * *

  


  


Sebastian spills hard enough at the goddamn kitchen table that he winds up having to wipe off his phone using the sleeve of his shirt.

He's not sure how, but somehow in the course of cleaning he accidentally sends Mackie the goddamn fucking _disco emoji_ , of all things, three times in a row, just because of how many times he used it while in skating biopic hell.

– _oops,_ he writes hastily, swearing when cum gets smeared back on the screen by his own goddamn thumb. _fuck, sorry. i... had to wipe off my phone._

– _jesus christ,_ Mackie writes back, about a minute later. _you are fucked up in a real good way, sebastian, you know that? you are one of a goddamn beautiful kind._

Pride competes hard with whatever vice grip is clenching hot at his ribs, and Sebastian finds himself throwing his head back -- breathing in, good and deep, as though the praise could possibly serve as adequate replacement for the cigarette he so desperately wants.

  


  


* * *

  


  


Then, after that, they don't talk for months. 

Sebastian expected it. Their lives are nuts; there's a thousand miles between them. And there's not exactly much casual to say to your buddy after he dirty-talks you to completion over text message. 

It was a casual thing, one-time; Sebastian knows that. Really. He does. He's just not sure how to come back from it, friendship-speaking. It'll be fine. They just need a little time.

Every once in a while he opens Mackie's contact page and tries to come up with something to say; something, anything, just to break the ice. He drafts half a dozen texts about how ugly '90s Stan was before deciding it sounds reaching and desperate, and winds up fucking into his hand every time he tries anyway, eye catching on something Mackie said about stringing him up by the nipples and leaving him there.

Which doesn't even make _sense_. Obviously that kind of thing isn't sustainable. Not that he's tried. Not that he wants to.

He drafts _that_ text to Mackie, once, hoping that not ignoring the situation will make him sound less desperate. It turns out to make him sound infinitely _more_ desperate. 

If he can't quite bring himself to delete the messages let alone respond to them, he's the only one who has to know; it's not like anyone cares enough about him to hack his phone anyhow. So Sebastian resolves to put it out of his mind to the fullest extent possible and swears to himself, every time he slips up and fuckin _thinks_ about it, that there's really nothing to it.

The silence slips on. Sebastian's exhausted by training, preoccupied with bulking, and in less time than he thinks Infinity War's around the corner. By then he goes entire days without thinking about the text messages -- he _does_ \-- so he's sure there won't be any problem.

  


  


* * *

  


  


Naturally, the first person he sees when he gets on set is Anthony goddamn Mackie.

Sebastian feels his feet drag when he turns the corner because there he is, standing with his arms crossed in the latest iteration of the Falcon costume, harness ridiculous and yet somehow doing things to him. Mackie's nodding as a producer talks to him, jaw clenching with concentration. 

Sebastian still has a chance to get out. 

He can slip away -- maybe come at the set from a different angle, try to stay out of his line of vision. At least _delay_ the conversation until such a time as they're not surrounded by thirty people whose jobs revolve around fussing fastidiously over their appearances. He can backtrack out of the warehouse, he thinks, come around the other side; maybe pick up a coffee on the way and pretend he'd thought his call was later than it is.

But in the time it takes him to think what to do, Mackie's gaze flits over, just a fraction to the side, and he meets Sebastian's eye with pointed acknowledgement.

Sebastian freezes. Anxiety, or, fucking _whatever_ thrums through him as he holds Mackie's gaze; but then Mackie blinks, shifts his eyes away without otherwise moving, and Sebastian's left feeling stunned and a little empty. Mackie doesn't acknowledge Sebastian in any other way; his arms stay crossed over his chest, his weight still set to one side, nodding at the producer as though his attention hadn't even been split.

This treatment, while strange, does at least temporarily solve his problem. Sebastian finds it in him to get his legs moving again and strides onto the set, pulling nervously at the glove on his hand. He's trying to get it over his metal-arm sleeve but there's an unpleasant squelching sensation every time he tries; things shift a little over his chest. He winces at the sensation. The spackle covering the left side of his body evidently hasn't set yet.

Sweating isn't helping. Fuck Georgia. Also, fuck spackle. Also, fuck Anthony Mackie.

Sebastian tries to find somewhere casual to put himself until he's ushered onto a mark somewhere, but he's saved the trouble when he hears Chris' voice. "He-ey, Seb!" he calls cheerfully; and Sebastian grins at him, lets himself be pulled him into one of his bear hugs without resistance, even goes so far as to offer one back.

"Hey, Chris," Sebastian says, flush with relief. "How you doing?"

"Not bad, same old, you know," Chris says. "You just get here?"

"Yeah, first day back. Guess we're jumping right in, huh?"

"Just standing around on marks in front of a green screen so far as I can tell, but we should start running combat drills tonight in case they throw us into an action scene tomorrow. You never know, right?"

"Sure," Sebastian says, pleased beyond fucking belief to have something to distract him tonight. "Sounds good. Let me know when and where, I'll be there."

Chris smiles warmly and claps him on the shoulder. "You look good. How's training been?"

Sebastian opens his mouth to answer, but startles instead; Mackie's sidled up beside them, producer waving as she breaks to the side. "Nice of you to finally show up," Mackie says idly, tugging at his gloves. "We've been working a week already, where you been?"

His tone is seamlessly casual, if a bit reserved. Sebastian can work with that. "Hey, Mackie," he grinds out. "Nice uniform. No star on the front, huh? Guess we take what we can get."

Mackie looks up at him with an unreadable expression; turns to him, flexes a little. "Not complaining," he says. Sebastian laughs, easy; already this is more manageable than he'd thought it would be. "No Cap insignia for you either, huh?" Mackie says, nodding at him. "Big shocker. Guess they're still lining me up for it."

"No chance," Sebastian says. "And don't pretend like giving it back to Chris for one last hurrah means shit. If anything it means I'm more likely to land it."

"Why, because you and Steve Rogers are so tight?"

"As a matter of fact."

"Then explain to me why Chris doesn't even have shit going on in the Cap department right now."

Sebastian turns to Chris and registers the blank, navy blue suit he's been made to wear. "What the hell is that?" he asks, pointing at him.

"Don't ask me," Chris says. He sounds tired of talking about it. "I just show up and stand where they tell me to."

"He doesn't know anything," Mackie adds, rolling his eyes.

"Oh, come on," Sebastian says. "You gotta know _something._ "

"I don't," Chris insists. "Take it from me. You're both better off without."

"No fuckin' way," says Sebastian. "I'm gonna be Captain America if it kills me. They gave me a _shield._ "

"Don't you dare," Mackie says. "You're not taking this from me."

"You don't deserve the shield, Mackie, your heart's not in it."

Mackie turns to face Sebastian in full, and suddenly all levity drains from the room; it's a tense vibe, angry in no small part. "Oh, my _heart's_ not in it?" Mackie says, voice low. "That right?"

Sebastian... can't parse it. Why the hell would Mackie be _angry_? A glance at Chris tells him that he seems to have begun looking around for something more interesting to hold his attention and may not have even registered the shift in tone. 

"That's what I said," Sebastian says, ratcheting back his volume just in case.

"What the hell would you know about it?"

The comment has barbs, somehow. Sebastian narrows his eyes, not expecting it. Even Chris seems to register something at that. He looks between them with sudden re-interest. 

"You guys good?" he says, brow creasing.

"We're great," Mackie and Sebastian say at once, not breaking gaze.

"Okay," he says skeptically. "Well, I gotta find something to eat before we get called."

"Chicken breast o'clock," Sebastian mutters, but he's still looking at Mackie.

"You fuckin' know it," Chris says; and he wanders off in the eternal search for protein.

Mackie holds Sebastian's eye with impossible stillness until Chris has gained sufficient distance, then shakes his head, almost imperceptible. "The hell's wrong with you?" Mackie mutters under his breath.

" _Me_? The hell's wrong with _you_?"

"I don't hear from you in three months and you show up here and pull this shit?"

"What -- _shit_? Mackie, what the fuck are you talking about?"

"Ostracizing me, like I acted wrong. Like you didn't flirt back twice as hard."

"Oh my _god_. I'm avoiding you because it's _awkward,_ Mackie, _I'm awkward_. That's it. Don't read more into it than there actually is."

It's the same line he's been repeating to himself ad nauseam for the last three months: _Don't read into it,_ like he's ever had a fucking choice.

"What's awkward about it?" Mackie says, choosing wilful ignorance, and Sebastian just--

"You--" he spits out, but then he remembers where they are; remembers, that by _every_ possible metric of professionalism and decorum, there's no way they should've done absolutely anything that could possibly involve the words _dirty_ and _nipples_ when they knew they still had to work. "You get to me," he says instead, voice dropping to a mortified grind. "You fucking get to me, Mackie, and I tell myself not to let you but you find a goddamned way. You kissing me casual and then pretending it never happened? Fine, I get it, we were drunk, shit happens. But this is awkward for me because I -- give a fuck, alright?" He swallows hard. "God help me, I give a fuck, and that may not be on you but it's a little more than I know how to handle. So sorry I didn't fucking text you, or whatever, but since you're just as guilty of that as me… fuck you, actually."

Then he walks away and manages _not_ to hyperventilate, but it's kind of a close thing. 

He manages not to look at Mackie for the rest of the work day.

  


  


* * *

  


  


Chris' version of 'running combat drills' is actually hitting the town, because of course it is; Sebastian can't believe he ever thought otherwise. "We're in at five to do this anyway," Chris said as he called for a car, and Sebastian had groaned, because that was true and also Mackie was apparently meeting them there, and so Sebastian had already known he was about to get way too drunk to conceivably be comfortable at a five a.m. call.

He had been right. Now, leaving the bar, he can already feel the hangover trying to creep in behind the eyes. He's getting old; it's seriously fucked up. Chris can metabolize this shit in ways Sebastian's never been able to fathom, but Mackie matched him drink for drink, too, so it's a minor comfort to know that between the two of them it's at least statistically probable he'll have company in Hangoversville. This, particularly given that Chris somehow charmed one of the locals into coming back to the hotel with him. The sleep deprivation alone is probably gonna screw him over at least as bad as Sebastian.

By some miracle, he and Mackie seem to have made it through the night without making it weird. They pushed through without so much as looking at each other for any unusual amount of time, instead falling back on jokes -- a predilection helped by the fact that Mackie hadn't bothered to track Sebastian down after their on-set exchange. Mackie seemed just as content as ever to pretend that nothing's happened between them, and that suited Sebastian fine. It had turned out absurdly easy to go back to their 'press tour' personas: making use of body language to deflect awkwardness, making each other laugh just by being over the top. 

It helped, too, to have enough other people around to attract their attentions when they needed a break from putting on a show. On feigning ignorance, it seemed, they were on the same page. 

But now, standing outside the bar, waiting for the car Mackie'd called in the back alley, it seems possible they've carried the act a little too far. Now that it's just the two of them, catching a car back to the hotel together has taken the form of an obvious mistake. Six months ago, it wouldn't have been; it would've even been a _good_ idea, untainted by anything so petty as _untoward implications_. Not so now. In their haste to forget their troubles, it seems they'd also forgotten they'd ever have to face them again. 

Now they stand in wordless silence, left alone to their misery and with no one around to distract them from it.

Sebastian feels like he's drowning. It's unseasonably hot, it's _way_ too damn hot; it shouldn't be possible for it to be this hot. The air is _cloying,_ it's after midnight; it's just not right. Mackie's frequent sighs suggest that he feels the same way, and Sebastian thinks about trying to make conversation, but a quick rundown of how talking about the weather would go suggests he would sound like he's trying too hard, which he absolutely would be, so he resigns himself to shuffling an idle foot and waits for the car in awful silence. 

_Fuck Georgia,_ he thinks again. Fuck all of this, god, he's so goddamn miserable. His skin is sticky from sweat and, probably, the remnants of arm spackle, and that shit's become the bane of his existence if he's being honest. The sports biopics were a nice reprieve, in hindsight; work all day in track pants, or in '90s jeans, and he might've wound up ugly but at least it was easy. 

Mackie exhales hard, finally breaking the stillness. He turns to him slow, hands shoved in his pockets. "How you doing?" he asks, and it's been a little too long to sound entirely natural but it does, at least, sound sympathetic. Sebastian will take what he can get. 

"I'm great," he says. "Thanks for asking. Hot out, huh? What's that about?"

"Right," he tells his feet. "I know I fucked up."

Sebastian's eyebrows steeple. He hadn't expected that. " _You?_ " he says, recovering his wits. "Say it again, Mackie, I gotta burn this shit into my brain forever."

"Don't get smart while I'm trying to say something."

Sebastian coughs out a reluctant laugh. "Never thought you'd accuse me of that."

"You know what? You're right." He turns to face him, suddenly spirited. " _You're_ the idiot."

"Yeah? That so?"

"You really thought I only kissed you because I was drunk?"

"I," Sebastian begins, but then he frowns; he hadn't expected that, either. "What? Didn't... you?"

"Jesus Christ, Sebastian," Mackie sighs. " _No._ "

Sebastian thinks this over. Is it possible he read ferocity, incorrectly, for recrimination? Is it possible Mackie had never kissed him with the intention of teaching him a lesson at all; that he'd done it just because he wanted... to...?

"Oh," Sebastian says, feeling a little stunned.

"Yeah," Mackie drawls, annoyed.

"Okay. Well… fuck, sorry, but do you expect me to read your mind or what? How was I supposed to know that?"

"Thought a kiss was pretty self-explanatory. You acted like it never happened, so I figured you… wanted to pretend it never happened."

"I figured _you_ wanted to pretend it never happened."

"Why would I want to do that when I was the one who kissed you in the first place?"

"You heard me respond, I thought I… spooked you by being into it."

"Why would that _spook_ me?"

"I don't know!" Sebastian shouts, suddenly angry. "I don't fucking get you, Mackie!"

"I don't get you either," Mackie assures him, just as frustrated.

That decided, they stand another while in terrible silence.

"Where the fuck is that car," Sebastian mutters.

"And _you_ told _me_ ," Mackie continues, turning back to him again, "by the way, to keep going when it came to that text thing. Just putting that out there."

"I -- okay, sure, yeah, but--"

"So you told me to keep going and then, what, developed feelings out of it? That made you decide to quit talking to me without talking to me about it?"

"You didn't talk to me either!"

"What the fuck could I say after you ignored me _telling_ you that you have me fucked up just as bad? I gotta spell it out for you? What the fuck did you think it _meant_ when I told you all that shit?"

Sebastian opens his mouth, then closes it, stunned again. "I--" He pauses to breathe; rubs at his neck, suddenly feeling a little turned on. "Frankly, Mackie, I just assumed it was a... dominance... thing."

Mackie swivels his head so slowly that Sebastian briefly wonders if he's somehow tripping on top of it all, but then Mackie settles on him like that's the stupidest thing he's ever said and he's led to remember Mackie's just a theatre kid like the rest of them. "It _was_ ," Mackie tells him, "but if I didn't fucking _feel_ anything for you, Sebastian, I wouldn't have said _that_ when I have a thousand much more demeaning options at my disposal."

Something sparks in him, _hard_. He kind of immediately wants to hear that list, then just as quickly talks himself out of wanting that list. "Okay. Well, I -- I don't have that context, Mackie."

"You telling me a sub like you never learned to read cues?"

Oh _god._ Arousal coils in his gut so hard he actually contorts. "A _what_?" he chokes out.

"You--" Mackie begins; but one look at Sebastian's face and he seems to get the picture. "Oh. Oh, _shit_. Are you kidding right now?"

"The fuck's that mean?"

"You just kinda… vibe for days, Sebastian, I figured--"

"I what? I 'vibe'? I don't _vibe._ "

"You vibe, sweetheart. Can hear it on every frequency how bad you want someone to take control."

Sebastian's vision blots out for a second. His mouth goes bone-dry; he needs water, or a cigarette, or another drink, or goddamn _something._

"Where the fuck _is_ that _car_?" he hisses, craning his neck.

"It's like that, huh?" Mackie says, watching him with interest. "So how long's it been since you let someone take care of you, baby?"

Mother _fuck_. "Can't we just drop it?" he says, strangled.

"That long?"

Sebastian lets five seconds pass before responding; waits for his anxiety, or _whatever_ this is, to ratchet down. "It's just -- it's not like I--"

"You're saying you don't need it."

"I don't. I'm good."

"And if I told you you did need it?"

Oh fuck.  
     ...Oh, _fuck._

Sebastian licks his lips; swallows. It gives him away, he knows it does. "I -- it--"

"How long's it been?"

His eyes flicker shut; he tilts his face to the sky. "College," he murmurs, word barely clearing his lips.

"Wh -- _really_? What's that, fifteen years?"

"Something like that."

"Jesus. Sorry, man. I assumed... seriously, you _vibe_."

"I don't vibe."

"You vibe, all right. I just figured that you… knew that."

Sebastian swallows, turning his face downcast. He does... know; he did know. He knew _something_ , anyway; it's not like he's been ignorant to what turns him on. He's turned right the fuck on now, for god's sake. He knows Mackie knows; Mackie knew all along. Sebastian just didn't have the words.

Mackie exhales, maybe with pity. "Okay, baby, don't worry about it. You having a bad time right now?"

God help him, he's not; he doesn't want Mackie to stop for anything. Stop _what_ he has no earthly idea; Mackie hasn't even touched him.

Without looking at him, arousal pounding stubborn, Sebastian shakes his head.

"Okay," Mackie says. He sounds pleased, somehow. That makes it worse, or maybe better. "Well, that's a good start."

This is a bad idea. "This is a bad idea," he mutters.

"You sure about that?"

No. He's not. The only thing he's really sure of is that he needs _something_ , goddamnit, god _damn_ it, why the _fuck_ did he give up smoking?

"Last time someone took care of you," Mackie says, "was it any good?"

"Yeah," he says, a little automatic. "Well -- kind of. I mean... no, in respects. Or -- I dunno. It was fucked up and that's what was good about it--"

"You're only supposed to have one answer if it was good, Seb."

"Then -- I guess it could've been better."

"Is that why you never sought it out after that?"

Sebastian shrugs. "Maybe. Partially, I dunno. I date women, mostly, it's hard to find the right... dynamic."

Mackie nods. "So you basically had no idea what the fuck I was doing."

"No. Guess I pretty much had no fuckin clue."

Mackie hums his comprehension and then shuts up, for once in his life, leaving Sebastian to marinade in this half-drunk hell of humiliation. But as the minutes tick past, the thrum in his balls doesn't once leave him. He realizes all he can think about is Mackie's hands on him. All he can think of is Mackie telling him where to be; Mackie _taking care_ of him, with all that might entail.

He's so caught up in it that he barely notices when the car finally gets there. The driver's apologizing, claiming something about traffic, but Sebastian's too distracted to care; he waves him off, steps forward, reaches out for the door handle--

Mackie moves past him and opens the door for him.

The air is suddenly so far beyond thick that he can't pull it to his lungs. Mackie meets his eye; the moment grows long. Mackie's staring at him, expression fixed, it's both a request and a promise; and something strikes new and hot in Sebastian's chest and sets him burning and burning and fucking _burning_.

"Fuck you," Sebastian whispers in his face, because it's the only thing he can think to say; then, when he can breathe again, when the tension breaks enough to give him back motor skills, he legs his way into the car.

Anthony follows. Sebastian scoots down without thinking. He shuts his eyes; forces some air into his chest. There's an itch at the back of his throat like he wants something in it; he's drifting, he's lost, he's so fucking hard.

Mackie still hasn't even touched him.

Nor does he the whole way back. They don't so much as look at each other. Neither one of them says a word, even when they get stuck in traffic for ten solid minutes -- only sit in smouldering silence, Sebastian so desperate to touch himself he starts rubbing his palm at the knee.

He knows Mackie's watching him. He knows Mackie knows _exactly_ what he's done. He sees Sebastian bow his head, sees him shifting his hips, and knows exactly what all of it means.

Mackie's undone Sebastian with nothing at all.

  


  


* * *

  


  


An interminable hell later, they make it back to the hotel.

Mackie doesn't say anything. Sebastian doesn't look at him. Mackie opens the door to the building for him; Sebastian wants to die. The elevator's called and Mackie holds the door aside, like Sebastian somehow needs the courtesy to function. He might. It's possible. He feels his heart beat hard in every limb. His throat still aches; that doesn't make _any_ sense. They stand a little apart when they step into the elevator and Mackie hits his floor, Sebastian's stomach falls; and it's then that Mackie brandishes his room key between two fingers and gives him an inquisitive look.

He needs only to glance at Mackie to know he's already gone; he's already there. He nods, his eyelids flicker, and he knows what he looks like. He must look the part, but he doesn't care; he looks as he is. Mackie may as well know it.

Mackie knows it; that makes it worse. His hand is warm and guiding in the small of his back when the doors open for them and Sebastian chokes up, he actually feels dizzy; he realizes he has no goddamn clue what the hell he is in for, but he's in for it, whatever it is; he's in this thing deep, and maybe he doesn't need to know anything else.

  


  


* * *

  


  


It takes them a dozen fucking years just to walk down the hall.

  


  


* * *

  


  


It's just direction, in a way. Direction he can handle. 

Sebastian follows Mackie into his room. He sheds his coat by instinct; drops it to the floor. He lets Mackie reach around him to shut the door; he lets himself get backed against it, relaxes, sighs his relief, when his back finds its surface.

Mackie's hands brace against him and it's already good, it has no right to be. He leans Sebastian against the door and sets a hand at the back of his neck, against his hip; pushes his thigh between his legs. Mackie feels so fucking _good_ , his body is warm and firm up against him and Sebastian wants to move his hips but he's pretty sure he's not supposed to.

"I'm gonna go out on a limb here and guess that you like to be jerked around," Mackie says, voice low. His breath is hot on his lips. "Is that right, Sebastian?"

"I," Sebastian says; but Mackie's hand grips hard against his neck. 

He's not supposed to talk, either. He finds no small relief in that. He nods.

"That's good, Sebastian," Mackie says. His name again -- a beacon; a clarion. He moves his hips, but Mackie firms his fingers against him; leaves Sebastian's eyes flickering to a close.

"Stay still," Mackie growls, and oh, fuck, Christ, thank god. Sebastian stills himself and opens his eyes and Mackie stares at him, hard, intentional; Sebastian can't read him. Mackie holds him there. He doesn't move. The fingers at his neck dig firm and deep and Sebastian's so turned on that he can't see straight. 

Minutes pass where nothing happens -- nothing except the drag in his lungs, the pulse at his dick. It's so hard to get a breath, he doesn't understand; but all he wants is this for days. 

Mackie seems to sense the desperation crashing out of him. He stares on; seems to study him, a little. He's barely even touching him, holding him in place by promise alone, and yet in the midst of it Sebastian is so beyond fucked.

"You're gonna go where I put you," Mackie tells him.

He is; he wants to. He nods.

"That's good, Sebastian. How about my cock in that mouth of yours?" Mackie brushes at his lips, dips beneath them; runs the pad of his thumb along his teeth. "Breach those pretty lips good and proper?" 

He starts to _salivate_ , he wants it so bad. Mackie removes his thumb from his mouth, sets it long at the side of his neck, humming his encouragement when Sebastian blinks through sudden lightheadedness. "I got you," Mackie tells him, voice gentle. "Don't worry, sweetheart. I got you right here."

 _Sweetheart_. God, he likes that; likes to know he's done good. Mackie licks his lips and Sebastian's eyes drop, follow the way his lower lip pulls beneath his tongue before appearing again; but then he flits them back up again, suddenly horrified he might've done something wrong.

Anthony cocks an eyebrow.

Sebastian's absolutely done something wrong.

He's desperate about it; can't figure out how to give an apology without breaking more rules. He doesn't want to break more rules. His breath comes hard as he tries to guess what Mackie's gonna do about it. His lips stay parted, dry, while he tries to think -- while Mackie just stares at him, accusing, intimidating him. Sebastian holds his eye like his life depends on it. 

Mackie's not talking him through it, and maybe that's part of it. Maybe waiting for Sebastian to fuck himself over is a beautiful thrill; maybe, somehow, it's making him hard. It's making Sebastian hard; it's not far to jump. The waiting is agony and yet still he wants it, wants to crawl into it; wants Mackie to deliver him from it, when he's been good enough.

"I'm gonna let that one go," Mackie mutters, "just because you're new at this, baby. But I don't want you to take your eyes off mine again. You understand?"

Sebastian does understand. He understands so much, so _thoroughly_ ; there's so much he understands that he didn't before. But he's forgotten whether he's allowed to nod; want slams in him hard enough to leave his thoughts going blank. It's killing him, it's left him electric; he still doesn't know what he's supposed to do. 

He doesn't want to break the rules. He wants nothing more than for Mackie to know how good he can be. But Mackie seems satisfied by his deference, somehow -- after a few minutes of holding his gaze, of staring him down, of letting Sebastian know who's calling the shots -- he steps forward, pushing him against the door, and _kisses_ him, fingers still tight at the back of his neck.

God, oh, _god_ , is this what he's earned? Mackie's palm pushes down on his hip against the door and it's a damn good thing, because when he presses his thigh against his dick he forgets he's supposed to keep himself still. Mackie's mouth whole and hot, it's so fucking good, his eyes roll hard; a moan shudders out of him, he is so damn lost. 

Suddenly, he realizes he's not looking Mackie in the eye. 

He's supposed to look Mackie in the eye. He tries to pull back to look Mackie in the eye -- the hand at his neck is a vice grip. He can't get away. Fuck, fuck, he just wants to be -- he's trying to be _good_ , damn it, why can't he -- desperation builds in him again; he can't think what to do; his instinct is to keep his hands splayed against the door behind him, but he has to at grab him, to keep him there, he's terrified he'll pull away if he's not good enough. 

But Mackie doesn't pull away. He leans into it instead -- takes the wafts of his desperation into him, as though deriving sustenance. Sebastian waits, lets Mackie kiss him, lets the hand at his neck tip his head back just a bit; he thinks, maybe, that this is what Mackie wanted. Maybe _this_ is how Sebastian can be good.

Mackie kisses him deeper, with an edge of his own. Sebastian opens to him; takes in what he can. Mackie moves his thumb and presses it at a spot in Sebastian's throat -- not hard, but not soft either. Sebastian's mouth opens involuntarily, right in the middle of kissing him; he moans, raw, yearning; all he wants is to be taken apart, to be made for someone else. The pressure at his neck stays slight, unrestrictive, but it must be at a vein because arousal takes him over with each beat of his heart -- cresting; crashing; leaving him weak. He could stay here forever, he thinks. He could stay right here for the rest of his life.

The thing of it is that Mackie taking his mouth -- it's good, _fuck,_ but it gets to be -- it's just that, before, hot needles of deprivation kept him lucid, present, in some roundabout way. But in amidst this _warmth_ , under Mackie, mouth hot over his, the scale starts to tip into -- 

He feels his chest hitch. It's not just desire, anymore, that drives in him; that would be simple. Now there is _feeling_ there, flowing through him in a thick, magmic surge; his throat betrays him, tightening in spite of him; his jaw quakes, terrible, sound breaking in his chest again and again. 

His fist pulls at Mackie's shirt as he tries to find stillness, though he knows he's not supposed to -- and this, it seems, changes the tides. Anthony's hand tangles in his hair, fingers wending between strands, and then he twists his wrist, snapping Sebastian's head back _hard_ ; leaving him gasping to the ceiling, neck exposed, face tilted high, gripping desperate in his shirt.

Here, they wait. They wait another while. The grip is vicious at his scalp, Sebastian feels the world in brutal focus; he can breathe again, at least; air drives in with shallow gulps. Mackie stoops, after a while, holding him there, scraping with teeth -- at his jaw, the shell of his ear, along the line of his throat where it lies exposed. Sebastian's held there, forcibly tensed, while his other hand climbs beneath the hem of his shirt. 

"Don't get greedy, Sebastian," Mackie mutters, his lips brushing against his neck. It's an impossible request; he must know it is. Mackie must understand what he's doing to him. This too is part of it: giving directions he can't possibly meet. 

As though to prove his helplessness to him, he presses suction over the pulsepoint in Sebastian's throat, fingers redoubling, _pulling_ at his scalp, forcing his neck craning higher; Sebastian moans; the world's turned sharper but he's no less turned on. The hand under his shirt climbs higher, higher, and Sebastian only figures out what's coming a split second before it does -- then he chokes out a sound, shudders with his _whole_ body, when Mackie's thumb brushes, presses, then pulls against his nipple. 

Anthony grins feral at his neck. "Yeah," he says, "yeah, sweetheart, I thought so. I thought you would." He does it again -- pinches with a forefinger, pulls and then twists, and Sebastian's eyes roll to an abrupt close. He's frantic again, his breath hitches higher with each one he takes; he can hardly stand this but he wants so much more. His breath is thin again. It's hard to get in for all that lives in him: these fingers gripping in his hair, the exposure of his throat, -- the way Mackie _owns_ him, fully clothed.

Sebastian has to arch his back, and Mackie likes that, _oh_ ; his teeth sink into his neck and Sebastian _sobs_ , Jesus, he's so fucked. "Oh," Mackie says, and he must hear the edge to it, the way he's threatening to teeter over; the grip in his hair grows suddenly soft. 

Mackie doesn't adjust his pull at his chest, but his palm cups at the back of his head, almost in support, and it's the relief Sebastian needs. He can tilt his head down, now; and so he does, meeting his eye at once. Mackie nods, encouraging. It evens him out. It feels good to know that he's earned something, even something partial. Even with his nipple still strung out by Mackie's fingers, he blinks his gratitude.

Mackie sees it; smiles at him, fond. "That's good, baby," he says. "You're doing just fine." It's so goddamn _kind_ , it follows him into the slipstream; he wishes he understood what it is about his tone, his eyes, that make him feel this way. He wants to stand at the foot of a falls and _feel_ the water, its crushing force: crashing, calamitous, pushing him to ruin.

Sebastian licks his lips; tries to figure out what he's supposed to do next. He's still not sure if he's supposed to speak. He winds up just breathing at him, slow and steady, fingers softly clenched in the front of Mackie's shirt, chest hitching a little every time Mackie twists at his nipple. At least his throat is clear again; he feels peaceful, in a way, not having to think. 

"You okay?" Mackie asks, and Sebastian nods, slow and easy. Mackie massages his fingers in his hair and it feels so good; he shuts his eyes, just for a second, then opens them at once to meet his eye. "That's good," Mackie says, smiling his approval. "That's real good, Sebastian. You know I got you, right? Look at you, sweetheart, you slip into it real good. I got you right here, I'm gonna take care of you."

Sebastian nods, relieved to be told. 

Then, slowly, Mackie's hand moves from where it's bracing his head and twists all of Sebastian's hair into a fist. 

Sebastian groans. He's pretty sure he knows what's coming. His breath grows heavy as the hand at his chest lets go and Sebastian's dragged down and to the side by the hand in his hair. 

He fucking -- _drops_. His eyes flicker, his chest burns, he's throbbing he's so hard. He ignores the hit to his knees, gasps up at Mackie, makes sure to keep his eye -- endures the pulse in his throat. That thrumming itch, that want, that need; Sebastian's face is about to get fucked, his gut contracts just to think of the relief of it. 

The grip in his hair is meant only for control; it doesn't hurt, but it isn't kind. It's meant only to control him, to control angle, depth, intake, _fuck_. He shifts his hips but he holds Mackie's eye; his neck's exposed; Mackie stares at him a minute, as though enjoying his agony. 

Then he tugs him down by the hair until he sits on his heels.

Mackie's lain claim to him, now. The realization spreads through his limbs, relaxing him by degrees. He steadies his breathing, his shoulders collapse; he only blinks up at Mackie, lips parted, hands on his knees, waiting.

Mackie brushes his cheek with his free hand -- an intimate gesture, awfully sincere. Emotion chokes out of him before he can stop it. "Oh, baby," Mackie says. It's a low voice, quiet, meant for Sebastian alone. "Sweetheart, you're just fine, don't you worry now. You want it real bad, huh?"

Sebastian nods, swallowing tight; Mackie intensifies the grip in his hair, and then he can't nod anymore. There's a lump in his throat, hard, somehow burning. "You're gonna take what I give you, then, right? You'll keep your hands right there and let me fuck between those pretty lips?"

Sebastian can't nod, so he blinks at him, breath reedy through his nose. He wants to tell him he'll be good, but he can't; he won't. He'll prove himself by being still.

Mackie makes quick work of his own belt, oddly adept, while Sebastian stays where he is. He wants so bad to look at Mackie's cock when it takes it in his hand, but that would be breaking the rules. Mackie tortures him by stroking himself off, languid and slow, as though to give him a general idea of the size of him without Sebastian looking. It has just the effect he wanted: it leaves Sebastian pulsing in place, lips falling open, finding them quivering for how bad he wants to lean in.

But he doesn't. He's sworn to stay good. Time passes slow; his fingers scrape with tension, but he keeps them at his knees. 

Mackie seems satisfied. At long last, the hand at the back of his head pulls him up again, holding him still at just the right level. "I want you to keep your eyes on me the whole time, Sebastian," Mackie says, steady and smooth. "I want to watch those pretty eyes while I'm fucking you raw."

Sebastian's held in place. He tries to nod; he can't. A muscle in his leg twitches; he forces it still. Mackie waits a beat, then another; then, finally, he coaxes him forward, just by an inch.

Sebastian's lips try at once to seal around him, but Mackie is watching. He sees it, frowns at his lack of control, and shakes his head -- a brutal reprimand. Icy desperation flashes through his veins; he can't endure this, his mouth is so -- but then Mackie tilts his hips forward, by the barest amount, and paints the shape of Sebastian's lips with the head of his cock.

It's intimate, Jesus, but it's also teasing. He leaves precum trailing in his wake, and Sebastian's so fucking thirsty. Christ, he wants to lick his lips, to taste him, but he knows for a fact he'll be abandoned if he does. He feels it in his bones -- imagines himself, with perfect clarity, cast aside, left to suffer, and he can't handle that now. He can't, so he won't; he has to be still.

Mackie watches him -- how he forces calm; the way his jaw shudders open a little further as Mackie traces his mouth, again, again, trying to coax him in. It's stupid; Sebastian knows it isn't gonna work, and yet Mackie licks his own lips, sinks his teeth into them, to see Sebastian kneeling at his feet, so desperate to take it. It's validation, sticky and sweet; and Mackie actually does seem to give in, a little, as he guides his cock along the outside of his cheek.

"Yeah?" Mackie says, and it sounds a little wrecked; Sebastian shudders; there's a wet streak on his skin. "Yeah, baby, you gonna hold your mouth open for me? Don't seal your lips, Sebastian, I mean it. You haven't earned it yet."

Sebastian moans, his eyes flutter closed, but he has to keep them open; Mackie takes it as acceptance of the terms when his eyes refocus, slow. He sets the head of his cock at the inside of his cheek instead and then, slowly, pushes to the side. Sebastian feels his cheek pouch out. His dick is so fucking hard; he pants with desire. He's helpless, he knows, he knows, he doesn't care, he can taste Mackie now -- his senses blow up, his mouth is slick with spit, it strings from Mackie's dick when he pulls his hips back. 

Mackie barely falters, only pushes back in with that crazy control. Watches Sebastian's cheek pouch a few times. Then, when he holds there, while Sebastian tries to breathe through the dick fucked in his cheek, his breath actually -- _breaks._

It's the first noise Mackie's made that's betrayed his own want. "That's right, baby," he says, only his voice cracks down to a whisper; oh, _Christ_ , he wants this just as bad. "Sweetheart, listen to me -- you're a goddamn miracle. You know that? You know just what to do, you can seal those pretty lips now, Sebastian, oh, there you go -- _oh_ , Sebastian, _yeah,_ that's so good. Keep 'em good and loose, baby, just like that, oh, _sweetheart,_ oh, look the fuck at you. Look how good you are, how good you follow orders, oh my god, look at you; you're even better than I thought."

And Sebastian is -- gone. His eyes flutter shut. Mackie doesn't stop it, stop him, only keeps that tight grip and fucks Sebastian slow -- pulls him on and then off of him, his own hips still. Sebastian is being used. He recognizes this. He knows, on some level, he's being dumped with all kinds of fucking chemicals -- the ones that used to drag him back to drugs time and again -- only it turns out _this_ is even better. Being put under. Being put to use. 

The pace is slow; Sebastian feels every inch of Mackie's cock against his tongue as he pushes in, meets slight resistance, pulls out again, and then back in. Sebastian only has to take it; he's never felt safer in his goddamn life. His fingers creak with tension, he forces himself to relax; he lets Mackie do the work, hold him up, use his mouth. Mackie controls him. Mackie controls him. Mackie --

"Look at me, baby. Look right up here."

Sebastian opens his eyes; he'd forgotten he wasn't supposed to let them shut. His lips are wrapped just around the head of him. He drags his gaze up, slow, repentant.

"Hey," Mackie says, but he doesn't sound mad; his free hand comes up to brush at his cheek again, and Sebastian could shudder with thanks. "No one but me takes care of you. But you sure know how to take a cock, huh? Know how to breathe through it?"

This much is true; Sebastian's had his share of back-room encounters. It all makes sense, in a way, falling to his knees like this for Mackie -- he's always been a little bit chasing that high. 

Mackie's grip in his hair is a little bit loose. Sebastian nods his head, blinks slow.

"You want more of it, huh?" Mackie says.

He does. He'd let Mackie use him however he wants, but that ache in his throat still lives, still thrums in time with his dick.

Slow, careful, Mackie's free hand comes up; tilts Sebastian's chin back, hand at his hair coaxing him back down to heel. Sebastian's neck is stretched long, he's facing straight up; and as he realizes what Mackie wants, his throat contorts of its own accord.

"Oh, baby," Mackie says, pushing himself slowly into his mouth -- filling him out, cock resting heavy on his tongue. "Look at you, Sebastian. God, you oughta know what you look like. Those pretty eyes, sweetheart, they're blown so wide -- you fucking love this, huh? Getting your throat fucked?" Mackie pushes in a little further and there's that resistance, but instead of pulling out Mackie just fucking _stays_ \-- holds his head tipped back, listens to the thin reed of his breath, and Sebastian wants it so bad, feels his throat trying to pull him in. "Okay, honey, shit -- Jesus Christ, Sebastian, you're -- blink for me real fast if you can't take it, anytime, baby, and I'll pull right out. But I think you can take it. I think you can take anything." 

Sebastian's held in place; he can barely move. He doesn't want to. He wants to be right here. He's so fucking -- _hard_ , Jesus, and then Mackie pushes in. He's just gonna hold him here and fuck his mouth, fuck his throat, and Sebastian's gonna take every second of it.

"Yeah, you can take it, sweetheart," Mackie murmurs, dragging his cock back, pushing back in again. Sebastian forces a deep breath; Mackie makes a sound again, low and impulsive. Sebastian knows how he must look: held in place, barely able to move. He doesn't want to move. He wants to stay right here. The corners of his mouth gather with spittle, his lips split apart, stretched, full; Mackie takes his time, lets Sebastian breathe, cuts it off again, Sebastian's so fucking hard. He's so fucking hard, it's all he can think about: his own dick, and Anthony's shoved in his mouth. He wonders if he'll come like this. The longer Mackie fucks him the more desperation builds, the more his breath grows laboured-- 

Mackie's pace picks up. Sebastian starts to choke, his dick fucking _jumps_ ; he doesn't come like that, but it's real goddamn close. 

"Alright?" Mackie whispers. His fingers are still pressed hard at his jaw, holding his mouth open, but his pace slows down; Sebastian nods. He feels his eyes focus up as Anthony slows, and he pushes down again, deep, until Sebastian chokes a little again. 

It's good, it is _fucking_ good. His eyes flicker closed again. "Yeah?" Mackie says -- then he does it again. 

Sebastian -- _wants_. He something nameless, ambient, profound. Mackie's cock pulls back and drags out a sound, deep, from his chest. He doesn't mean to give it but it's at least honest, deeply guttural. 

He feels Mackie's dick pulse; and it's then, breathing out, fingers at his base, that Mackie pulls out of him. 

Oh, it's bad, it's _awful_ , why'd he _leave_? The world floods back in; Sebastian lips seek after him, feels his brow fold with sorrow. 

"Oh, sweetheart," Mackie says. He's stayed hard, he hasn't come; his fingers brush at Sebastian's brow. "I know you want it bad, but what kind of teacher would I be if I didn't give you a lesson?" He leaves Sebastian watching in morbid horror as he starts stroking himself off, cock unbearably slick from Sebastian's mouth. 

Sebastian can't figure out what he's done; he feels _devastated_ , heartbroken; emotion crests, leaves his eyes burning. Was it the noise he made? He wants to ask, but the words falter on his lips. 

"You did a real good job today, baby. But I take everything into account, all the way back to the start of this thing. And that workout segment?" Mackie's palm runs flush along the length of him, wraps around his head; and Sebastian finds his gaze has settled on it, on his cock, hard and long and Jesus _Christ_ \-- it's like he's drawn to it by the taste in his throat. "It was so fucking _stupid_ , Sebastian. The way you arched your back on that machine? I knew it was for me."

Was it? Sebastian can't remember. It's all a little fuzzy. It seems possible he did that; should he say he's sorry? "You wanted to torment me," Mackie tells him, "to see you so beautiful after calling you rank. But the real problem, sweetheart?" He pulls at himself again; makes a sound in his throat, and it's killing Sebastian not to be part of it. Mackie's grip tightens in his hair. "The real problem is that you didn't even need to do it. You teased me for no reason at all, baby. Because even when you were kitted out in that '90s getup -- even when you had that godforsaken mustache -- I still wanted you. I still wanted you, real fuckin' bad." 

Mackie pulls him forward, puts his cock back in his mouth, and Sebastian's so relieved the sound shudders out of him before he can stop it. Mackie doesn't fuck him, just holds there with a hand in his hair, but he doesn't mind; the weight of him, the taste of him, that's reward enough. "I wanted to put you on your knees, just like this, and I wanted to come all over your face. I wanted to see the way it stuck to that thing; I wanted to watch you clean it off using only your tongue. I wanted you to defile you, make you a walking sin; and I wanted you to get off on it when I did that to you."

Sebastian _hums,_ deep in his chest, involuntary; he's desperate in a whole new way. He wants that too, wants Mackie to show him, wants Mackie to--

"But circumstances being what they are," Mackie goes on, "I guess we'll have to make do." Then, pulling out again, he says, "I want you to look at me while I come over you. I want you to look me right in the eye and know that you're mine."

Sebastian does as he's told, desperate not to flinch as it falls on him in thick, heavy stripes.

Then he feels -- complete. It doesn't make sense. There's a peace dawning in him, though he's still throbbing in his pants. Mackie didn't come in his throat the way he'd so badly hoped, but when Mackie's thumb strokes gentle at his cheek, it starts to sink in: what Sebastian's done to him. How he's led them to this. 

"There you are," Mackie mutters, the edge gone from his voice, looking suddenly as blissed as Sebastian feels. Mackie's fingers trace over his features, patterning, intricate, until he's gathered a decent amount of cum on his fingers. 

He slips them into Sebastian's mouth, then, and holds him in place while Sebastian swallows them clean.

"Just for you, sweetheart," Mackie murmurs, caring beyond words; and in the quiet of the room, Sebastian swears he's found home.

  


  


* * *

  


  


Mackie keeps him there, winding him down. He stays steady between Mackie's hands, one in his mouth, the other cupped at the back of his head. He isn't sure how much time has passed when Mackie pulls him to his feet, but when he does it's with a softness hard to bear.

Mackie's got him. He knows that much. He's walking him back; his face is good and close. When he kisses Sebastian it is utterly without edge -- it's straight emotion, now, Sebastian can feel it, feels it wafting from Mackie, burn within himself.

His back finds a dresser. Mackie hoists him onto it. From here, he doesn't have to do anything except come apart. Sebastian feels it now, what Mackie was showing him that night when they were drunk; feels the same swipe of Mackie's tongue, the way it makes a promise, and Sebastian takes him deep into his mouth and tries to give back. Sebastian still feels put under, but it's impossibly soft; any pinpricks of worry have left him since Mackie picked him up, and all he feels is flying, floating, like he knows he's done well.

He's been edged for so long that it doesn't take much to ruin him. Mackie's hands are so good -- they slip under his shirt, press at his ribs, make quick work of his pants. Sebastian feels how wet his is in Mackie's hand, moans, thrusts into it, moans again, when Mackie wraps his fingers around him. 

His hips start to move, but Mackie sets them still. He tightens his grip, uses precum for lube. It's enough that it's barely rough, but there's still something to it, where Mackie's hands have been worn by work, where his gloves don't protect. It's still enough to leave him groaning every time he fucks into his palm.

Mackie isn't done undoing him. He ignores Sebastian's choked objection when he pulls from the kiss and dips his head, runs his teeth along his neck. He suckles, gives suction, thumb tweaking at his nipple. Sebastian gasps; it turns into a sob; Mackie's not gonna let him come until he's practically begging for it, he knows. Mackie's teeth set over the mark he's just made and Sebastian bucks his hips; then Mackie ducks lower and replaces fingers with teeth. 

It's here, Mackie wrapped around his dick, teeth tensed and pulling at his nipple, that Sebastian loses his goddamn mind -- comes, whites out, unspools hard in Mackie's hand.

It's the best he's ever felt -- he's flying -- he's falling -- he finds he's desperate for breath, he can't keep one in, his throat closes up, he doesn't know why.

Anthony wraps him in his arms, and Sebastian sobs into his neck, hitching, unexpected. "You're okay, baby, you did so good," Mackie says against his brow, and Sebastian knows that he did; he's relieved with it, he's just so damn relieved. "You were perfect, Sebastian, I never expected you to be so good."

Sebastian finds it in him to force some calm; presses his eyes to Mackie's shoulder, breathes there awhile. "Sorry," he says throatily.

Mackie huffs, kind. "Nothing to apologize for."

"I didn't expect -- dropped _so hard_ , I--" 

Sebastian raises his head to see Mackie grinning at him, and it's a little surreal but he'll take what he can get. "Baby, that makes you amazing. Don't you worry about a thing." He nods toward the bed. "I'll grab you water, a cloth, something to eat. Don't fall asleep." 

Then, like the world's biggest smartass, Mackie holds at Sebastian's hand like he's a goddamn Disney princess. 

Sebastian stares at him, but Mackie's smarter than he looks; Sebastian's legs collapse out from under him the second he moves himself to the floor. Mackie steps in fast, catches him easy; and it's nice here, leaned against him. Sebastian noses at his neck. 

"I am so fucking high," he mutters before he can catch himself. Mackie laughs; clicks his tongue. 

"Well that's too bad, because we gotta get up in three hours."

"Oh my god." That brings him down in a fucking hurry. "I'm gonna kill you."

"Have to catch me, first," Mackie says; then he hastens away laughing while Sebastian blinks at him for too damn long.

  


  


  


  


  


### epilogue.

  


Chris, as predicted, is hung over to _shit_ when Sebastian walks into Makeup the next morning.

"You guys got back alright?" Chris asks, bleary-eyed. He's got one of those stupid fucking smoothies in his hand that his mother apparently swears by but that Sebastian maintains does absolutely shit all. He doesn't even know where he _got_ one at this hour.

"Yeah," Sebastian says, too busy keeping his face neutral to ask about it. "Traffic was shit though."

"Yeah, I know. I was in the car beside you when you and Mackie got stuck off the highway." 

It's idle, the way he says it, but then his head is being fixed in place by Robin, so it's hard to read. Sebastian listens to her scold Chris under her breath about pores and moisturizing before working up a reply.

"Uh, yeah." He had one hundred percent never even _thought_ to look for Chris, or in fact any of their coworkers, anywhere around the hotel when they got in. "Yeah, that was fucked up, right? You don't think there'll be traffic like that after midnight in Georgia."

Chris just looks at him blandly in the mirror. "Uh-huh. Well, you don't look so bad this morning."

"Yeah, I dunno. Guess I slept."

"Bet you did."

Sebastian stares at him in glowering horror until Chris' smile finally breaks wide. "I'm just messing with you," he says, but he's known Chris long enough to know better. 

"Well, don't," Sebastian says. "At least not at five in the morning, and _definitely_ not when you were the one who made me go out in the first place."

"I didn't _make_ you do anything. Hey, where is Mackie, by the way?"

"How the hell should I know?"

Chris stares at him. Robin steps out for a second, muttering something with a parting hand on his shoulder.

"I don't know where Mackie is," Sebastian repeats when Chris just stares on. It was kind of true; he left Mackie's room forty minutes ago to finish cursing out his entire existence in the shower. He could be anywhere by now. "Guess he'll be here soon."

"Educated guess, huh?"

"Fuck you," Sebastian says. "It's too goddamned early for this, cut me a break. How'd your hookup go, anyway? Marriage material, or you cut her loose already?"

"Oooh," Chris says in a low voice. "Low blow, man." 

In fact, he has clearly utterly failed to take him remotely seriously. Sebastian's spared the trouble of finding the energy for an acerbic response when Mackie throws himself, groaning, into the chair on Chris' other side. 

"You gotta be fucking kidding me," Mackie says immediately, eyes set on Chris' smoothie. "Still?"

"Miracle cure, man, I'm telling you." He offers him the drink. 

"Go to hell," Mackie says. "Morning, Sebastian."

"Morning," Sebastian murmurs. It's then that Robin comes back, another makeup artist in tow -- Sebastian knows her. Fawn. He smiles at her upon entry. "Oh, hey. Long time no see, how's it going?" 

"Early," she says, but then she smiles with a little brightness. Sebastian wants to ask for her secret, but he's pretty sure the secret is just 'don't go out the night before a five a.m. call.' 

"Yeah," he says. "Sorry about that."

"All part of the job. Hey -- you been to spackle yet?"

"I have not been to spackle yet," he says, rubbing his eyes. "Possible I'm a little behind this morning, since _some asshole_ made me go out last night."

"I didn't _make you--_ " Chris begins; but he is roundly shushed as Robin tries to sketch out an area for injury on his cheek.

"Then what's this on your chin?" Fawn asks.

All at once, the room grows tense. 

Sebastian meets Mackie's eye in the mirror. Chris' gaze snaps up, too; Sebastian avoids it. Fawn, sensing nothing, pries up with her fingernail some thin, transparent film, procured from among Sebastian's stubble.

Sebastian swears he can hear his own heartbeat. He'd swear everyone in the room can hear his heartbeat. 

"I have no earthly idea what that could be," he grinds, low-key petrified.

And that's all it takes for Chris to burst into profound, untamable laughter.

The whole room goes to shit. It does, at least, serve to shatter the tension. Chris collapses over himself, lost to hysterics; Robin sighs, waits impatiently, until he starts hacking hard enough that he actually has to leave the room.

Mackie, meanwhile, has covered his mouth with his hand as though withholding a smile. He stares at Sebastian in the mirror, wordless with apology. 

Sebastian shakes his head at him, imperceptible; then he steadies himself and looks Fawn dead in the eye. "Your significant other have facial hair?" he asks her, fighting to keep his composure.

"Nope." She politely wipes the cum off his face as though she hasn't just figured out that's what it is. "Why d'you ask?"

"Well, take it from me," he says, and pulls his hair behind his ears. "Sometimes you just gotta store some shit in there for later, you know?"

Chris, who had only just stepped back into the room, wastes no time in starting right up again. Mackie, too, finds himself spiraling into hacking fits of laughter. Even Sebastian smiles a little; he can't help it. His ears might be burning red but he's at least reclaimed this moment for himself.

"I'll take your word on that," Fawn says, resigning herself to not being in on the joke; and then, satisfied that his face is sufficiently free of materials, she starts in on the usual routine.

Chris, on the other hand, remains inconsolable until Sebastian leaves for spackle.

Sebastian has the weird impression he's about to have a pretty good day.

  


  


* * *

  


  


"You know, Sebastian," Chris says later, setting a hand seriously on his shoulder. "As a man who keeps a beard in the off-season--"

"I will fucking kill you," Sebastian says, grabbing him by the hair with Bucky's metal arm. "I swear to god, Chris. You know I can."

"Okay," Chris wheezes cheerfully, "okay, man, I hear you. Loud and clear. You got it. Subject dropped."

  


  


* * *

  


  


Chris turns to him at lunchtime. "It's just--"

Sebastian holds a prop gun to his head on instinct alone. 

Chris cracks up, laughs himself hoarse; then, thank god, he really does let it drop.

  


  


* * *

  


  


Mackie, on the other hand…

"You have got to be," he says, draped dramatically over Sebastian's bed as he wipes tears of belated mirth from his eyes, " _the_ weirdest, most depraved goddamn person I have ever met, Sebastian. I mean it. There are some _people_ in this industry, but you're out here making jokes about cum on your face like you're keeping it for later. I know 9/11 truthers less bold than you. I know an Area 51 guy who shows everyone his alien artifacts but even he wouldn't gloat about cum in his beard. You're it, Sebastian. You're the weirdest there is."

"You try defending yourself against coworker scrutiny at five in the morning," Sebastian says, dead exhausted. He is pouring himself a very strong drink.

"Jesus Christ, though, I mean -- you just went right for it." Mackie's grinning at him from the bed and it's a little hard to tell when he's upside-down, but Sebastian could swear he looks totally enamoured. "You're one of a kind, baby, that's all I'm trying to say. You hearing me this time? You are one of a goddamn kind."

  


  


* * *

  


  


Later, he texts Margot 'thank you.' She doesn't need to know why.

When all this is over -- Sebastian _swears_ \-- he is going to stay clean-shaven for the rest of his life.

  


  


* * *

  


  



End file.
